Hope Dream Love
we are always thinking about how awful it is but never take a second to see the good. so im going to take a minute and do just that.
thank you depression, because of you i know what it’s like to struggle and therefore i feel compassion for others.
thank you for not putting me in a rich family, for that i feel humble for what i do have.
we see the bad, day in and day out, but we forget that with evil there is good. we forget to look at the lessons the situations we are put into have taught us, therefore not learning from them and just repeating history. i hope with this post you can see that there is good in the bad and maybe the next time you are in a bad place you will take a second to look. ask yourself “why am i here” “is it something i did” “can i fix it” “stop it from happening again” even when you think there isnt a way, there always is. sure you might have to deal with anxiety to do it but in the long run you will feel so much better to have your life back in your own hands.
i just cant do it. i lost my life before it even started. i refuse to have a child even though i want one. i cant have my dream. i dont work well with people. friends. relationships. forget it. i have no reason to be here. this world is better off with one less me.
i cant be the only one out there. and im not talking about cutting or not eating. although i do both. i mean doing things that completely fuck up your life and you know it. but you dont care. you wish it upon yourself. you hang out with shady people. doing drugs. drinking. but why care. why does it matter. whats the worse that can happen. you wish to die anyway. why not just make it easier. slowly pushing yourself over the edge. just waiting for you to finally do it. to finally completely not care.
So who on here has a tattoo? Specifically on your wrist. Even better the wrist you cut on.
I want to get a tattoo just above my cuts. Basic. Black. A few words. “Remember that i love you” and a little butterfly above the R. Im told that it doesnt hurt. Its more of an irritation. And i just remembered….i cut. Well damn. My nerves are fucked. That would make it different from others who dont. Now the area that i cut is a lot more sensitive than where im actually going to get the tattoo. However its only about….idk say 5cm above them. Not very far away. And im getting it for my depression and i think its an awesome idea. I want it. But…what if i change my mind half way through. What if it hurts too much and i just cant. Also i have a phobia of needles. Yes phobia. Where a fear you can sit there take a deep breath and have an anxiety attack. I completely panic, freak out and run away screaming. I just cant.
I have been talking with my artist. Get to know him so im not letting a complete stranger do it. Hes cool. Ive seen his work. Everyone suggests going there. Best in town. I asked about pain and he says that i can buy this numbing cream, which i am. And that i can show up as stoned as i please, ill be doing that too lol.
Anyway if you could tell me anything about a tattoo in general. Or just one on your wrist. Or one close to cuts or a cover up. That would be awesome and very much appreciated.
I promised you my last week, but im not sure i can do it. A week to think about things. A week to let you talk me out of it. A week of what!? You know what the last day brings. is that really something you want weighing on your heart? just sitting there the whole week acting like everything is fine. hoping and praying i dont go through with it. so you can blame yourself once im gone. “why didnt i stop her? i had more than enough chances”
i know what i promised however im sorry but i feel nothing good can come of it. i wish i could keep my promise to you but i just dont think i can. im sorry.
How does one start a conversation they dont want to have but feel its best?
Should i try to reconnect?
i always came second to her, while i put her first. she stabbed me in the back. she told everyone to not tell me. and she herself didnt even break it gently to me. she just sat on his lap.
im still hurt by everything shes done and i know i always be. weve grown apart by now. i see no reason to bother. now its just a candle thats time to let burn out.
Nothing feels real anymore. I keep having to remind myself that this isn’t all a “dream”. Have I finally lost it? How much farther down this path do I have to travel before I lose all sense of sanity? The hallucinations. Horrifying. My brain…..the best way to explain it…it shuts off. Just stops consciously working. I lose track of what I’m doing. Have conversations I’m not 100% I actually had. I keep looking at my husband and asking “did i just say something to you?” and i get a strange look and the answer is typically yes. I just…don’t feel mentally here any more. I keep saying I should be in a mental hospital but they keep saying I’m wrong when in reality…they just don’t know. I hide a lot from them. I hide a lot from everyone. Like how i keep having these passing thoughts of death. These images in my mind of a knife slicing my throat. My body a limp bloody mess and the words “slit your throat” echoing in my brain. Going day by day feeling like the last day didn’t even happen. But I know it did. It had to of. But it doesn’t feel like it. With each passing day I seem to fall farther and farther into my own fantasy world. Looking back, I never had a chance. How was it not noticed by people? Who am I kidding, my parents never gave a shit. I wasn’t as bad as I am now but if I was, they wouldn’t have cared. I could have been paralyzed from the waist down, they didn’t care then. I told her I was suicidal, she just pretended to care for the first 24 hours then completely ignored me. She saw my cuts and just scoffed at me.
Should I make my fantasy world end? Should I try to fix my fantasy world? Am I too far gone for that? Or the one I’m more likely to do…. Should I just keep going and ignore it? Just go about my day, or at least try to.
Be it naturally or not, I’d like to be listening to this song when I go. To go in peace sounds so much better than vain. Like that one last minute where I can finally be at peace.
I wonder who that could be. The thought wandering through my mind as I was not expecting guests. I left the kitchen where I was preparing my sandwich and answered the door. “Hello?” I say as the door swings open. My heart stops. The long black cloak and scythe unmistaken by anyone. Death was at my house. My hand goes to my chest as I fall to the floor. My breathing grows heavy as I back away. ” Why… Why are you here?” I barely manage to say as my heart tries to escape my chest. He says not a word as he makes his way to my kitchen. I scramble to get up off the floor and follow him. “Why are you in my house?” He looks at me with a look in his eye that says it’s not my turn to speak. He gestures for me to take a seat. Sitting down I watch as he sits across from me. Looking down at my sandwich he then pushes it towards me. I look at it questionable, refusing to take a bite. Unsure of what might have been done to it. “Why, my dear, do you refuse to eat? You did make this sandwich with that as the intent, did you not?” I look at the sandwich then back to him “excuse me when I say, but I do mean no offense, how do I know I won’t die if I eat It? You are death aren’t You? Or am I mistaken?” He scoffs as he answers my question with a question “Why would it matter? Do you not wish to die?” Everything inside me sinks. He’s right. I do wish to die. Why does it matter than? “While you ponder over the answer allow me to tell you. You do not wish to die. You just feel you ran out of options. Although you are still hopeful a new option will show itself between now and then. You would rather live happy than this pain you face daily however, you never see that as a possibility. But for as long you have that small spark of hope, I promise you won’t touch your lunch no matter how hungry you get.” Silently he gets up from his seat and walks back out the door closing it behind him. My eyes following him until I hear the click of the door and then they go back to looking at the sandwich. My stomach growls. Picking up the sandwich I throw it out, with the smallest spark of hope left. Smiling i think to myself, one day the spark will blaze again.
i cant breath. im lost for words. i want to talk to my husband but i have nothing to say. i just want to cry. why cant i just go to sleep and not wake up.
I want a smoke. I havent had one in years and ever since my husband quit the smell has revolted me. But every now and again……
ok id like everyone to read this because you may not and you may be the only person that can relate. so ill cut straight to the point in case you dont want to read it. food. it all tastes bland too me. no amount of spices, flavouring, nothing can change it. it started 3-4 years ago. i had no interest in food. especially food i cooked. i just didnt want it. id make my husband a big plate of what could be summed up to an amateur gourmet meal then id make myself mr noodles. like wtf. who gives up a gourmet meal. the answer me. so we summed it up to after working so hard to cook it i just didnt want it. i mean makes sense. but now….right now im chewing on sour skittles. i taste that they are sour but thats it. i had mint ice cream the other day and i tasted the mint but meh. and to test it i had a hot dog and a burger….meh. now typically its a “ask the doctor” thing but i figured…maybe its my depression causing the problem. and if it is what better place to get the answer (not including the doctor he knows nothing about my depression or eating problems). a little insight/back story.
im not sure youd call it anorexic because im not….”skinny” back then (i was 14-15) if i sucked in my gut you could see my ribs. so skinny but not anorexic skinny. so that out of the way on to the story.
i use to refuse to eat. my depression would act up or id be pissed off and id have no interest in eating supper. i never ate lunch. not since i was 10. and it was nothing for me to skip breakfast before school. so the lunch thing went on for 10 years (i still dont eat lunch and im 20 now) and its still nothing for me to not eat breakfast. although sometimes i do pick up a small bag of chips. and now ill come home and eat a small supper. 1 hotdog (its summer so we bbq). a year ago id completely refuse meals. “im fat” “im ugly” “i dont deserve to eat” im sure you know it. to put it all basically its never been nothing for me to not eat. now food just dosent have much of a taste to me and i dont know why. im just completely uninterested in food. like if i never ate again i wouldnt care. oh and i forgot i attempted starvation too….but i kept getting hungry.
so if you know or relate or a doctor told you it would be cool if you could tell me why my food tastes bland.
im better off alone. im better off dropping my friend and leaving my husband.
no. im not better off. they are. they just cant see it for some reason. if i cant make them leave i guess its up to me to walk away.
after we move. i cant leave him alone in the middle of this. i will wait until he gets settled first.
i hope you two understand that its for your own good. if/when i do leave…..
please dont come find me.
They are getting worse. Before they were just little black dots running by. Easily passed off as nothing but now…i can’t do it anymore. They look like they are going to kill me. Slowly. Bloody. No mercy. They run after me. They get in my face. No matter how many times I say it’s not real they won’t go away. I refuse to be alone at night now. That’s when they bother me the most. I hate my job. Why do I have to work nights. They stare at me with this grin. This toothy “supper” looking grin. I hate them.
I seem to always say the wrong thing. I never mean to. People must think im a horrible friend 🙁
i think i dont want to live another year
It seems like every move forward in life i make the farther down i fall. The more detached i become from reality. From myself. He might see hope. A place to actually start life. But i see a black void. I see things getting darker and worse. I dont see happiness. I wish i could. But instead i just see more stress. And the weed. The less said about it the better. It doesnt help at all. It just makes things worse. The thoughts dont stop. They just become easier to hide. People just THINK im ok. They just THINK its helping. With each passing second, that bridge down the road from me is looking more and more inviting.